The day he breaks your heart, wait till you get home to cry. Wait until it’s 1am in the morning and you swear the pillow between your arms is your new best friend. Practice smiling in the mirror, so the next day when you sit by him he can’t distinguish the coal black eyeliner from the redness of your eyes.

Smile because you can. Not because you want to. Laugh at stupid jokes because it makes you happy. Not because you need to.

And don’t you look at him. No, tuck the loose strand of hair up behind your ear, smooth over the creases in your skirt and don’t look up. You’re not over it, and every sharp intake of breath breaks your heart, but he doesn’t need to know that. After all, the daggers are yours, not his.